


FATE

by rvnclwhre



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Books, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, London, Magic, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Muggle/Wizard Relations, Muggles, Original Character(s), Post-War, Smut, bookshops, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29398896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rvnclwhre/pseuds/rvnclwhre
Summary: fate/feɪt/nounthe development of events outside a person's control, regarded as predetermined by a supernatural power."fate decided his course for him"~And maybe this was out of his control. Something he couldn't fight, and maybe he didn't want to fight it. This girl, he was drawn to her and had yet to figure out why.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	FATE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my bestie for checking over this for me, you're a babe and I adore you.

~*~

_And I could easily lose my mind_   
_The way you kiss me will work each time_   
_Calling me to come back to bed_   
_Singing Georgia on my mind_

_Georgia ~ Vance Joy_

_~*~_

_It is never quite safe to think we have done_ _with life. When we imagine we have finished our story, fate has a trick of turning the page and showing us yet another chapter._  
  


_Rainbow Valley_   
  


_Lucy Maud Montgomery_

_~*~_

_Sunlight_

_Tuesday 20th October 1998_

His heart stops.

As he lifts up out of the darkness of whatever hole he's found himself in— on this glorious day, he takes in his surroundings the best he can.

And, well, maybe his heart hasn't stopped completely —but it feels like it has— and dropped to the bottom of his stomach in the process. Dropping as quickly as he rises. Sinking, drowning, lifeless inside him. And it does feel like there's no beat left in it. Just a lump in the pit of him.

His eyes adjust to his new location, and _why_ it’s surprising to him is weird, but it’s surprising nonetheless. He knew where he was going, he knew this was coming, what he’s doing right now. Yet he’s surprised to find himself in the centre of this particular room as if he didn’t know. And _fuck_ , this is where his breathing stops too. Where his breathing needs to start again.

Blurred vision. Lack of a pulse. Can't breathe.

What a joyful experience.

 _Focus_.

This is serious fucking shit and he needs to focus on what's going on if this is going to have a somewhat positive outcome.

_Focus._

He looks around and observes, through his hazy eyes. 

Plum.

All he can see is a disgusting shade of plum. It’s revolting and the sight of it makes him want to be sick. He hates plums. With a passion. And if he didn’t before, he definitely will after this. The texture of them, the taste and even the look of the fruit in general. So yes, he feels sick being surrounded by the colour plum without any mention of the fruit. And this is before he’s even started to look into the shit he's found himself in. 

Although, eating a plum right now could be good. Better than the rubbish he's been fed lately. He could maybe start to like plums, maybe they're not that bad. 

_Stop. Focus._

_Look some more._

Silver.

There's a hint of silver amongst the plum— but it's only in traces, minuscule amounts. Glimmering against the bright lights that are shining around the room and down on him. Have they always been so fucking blinding? Ordinarily, they probably aren't even that fucking bright— but right now they are and he feels like he's going blind. Have they done this on purpose? Making them brighter so that he can barely see, barely concentrate on what’s going on.

Oh, the sneaky fuckers, he bets it is. Would put his whole Gringotts vault on it. A way to throw him off.

Fucking bastards. 

He feels sick and is going blind.

Anything else to make this more pleasant? Does someone want to come and kick him in the balls too, while they're at it? Have him keel over in pain? It’d help with the sickness he's feeling, it’d let it all out. He thinks they'd be happy with a smidge of vomit covering their marbled floors, and it will add a bit of colour to the bleak room.

_Focus, don’t let them distract you._

All he's been used to for however fucking long he's been locked away are dark and cramped conditions, with only a single ray of sunlight —if there ever was any— sliding its way through a gap in the wall. The sunlight that was a slither of hope to him— a small piece of joy when he did see it. Knowing that one day he'd be able to bask in the sunlight once again. He'd just have to be patient.

But then these lights around him —the ones that are shining on him— they're too much, and he feels like he's been thrown straight into the fucking sun instead of gradually coming out of the shadows. 

It's also _fucking_ hot.

Fucking hell— that’s where he is, hell. Some variation of it at least. Either that or he really has been chucked into the sun. Catapulted straight from earth into the blistering heat that's burning him alive. He's sweating profusely, abnormally. It's disgusting. As if he didn't already need a shower as it is.

He'd gotten used to the cold. The stone on his back and bare feet. The wind and rain through that gap more often than a golden glow. It would give him shivers at all points of the day. Makes him squirm and shudder even thinking about it. But anything's better than this humid temperature. Even being back there.

No.

_Focus._

He wants to be free. He doesn’t want to go back there. If he focuses, he will be free.

If he's right and if the marks on his walls are accurate— it's been five months. Five fucking, shitty, crappy months in the luxurious hotel he's now started to call home. Home sweet home. Oh, was it _so_ lavish and a lifestyle he would've loved to have gotten used to. Things go badly today, and maybe he will be able to. He's even considering booking another room there one day, to sit in darkness and slowly go somewhat mad from the solitude. Better wizards than him have been known to go fucking senile for much, much less.

But he guesses being free will have to suffice— if all goes well.

Yes, he wants to be free.

_You want to be free._

Plum. Silver. Bright lights. Sweltering heat.

Cold metal bars.

He grips tightly to them, to then hit his thumb against the iron. Tapping his foot too— on the floor beneath him. Humming quietly to himself, thinking of a cheerful song that might distract from how he’s really feeling. How his heart was somewhere in his stomach but now—

Oh, there's his fucking heart. 

It’s back in his chest but it's beating at an insane rate. He can't fucking win. He can’t decide what’s better. A heart that's stopped or a heart that feels like it's going to burst. 

He just wants this to be over. He wants to go outside. He wants to be free. 

There’s sunlight waiting for him. To shine down on his skin. To feel actual, natural warmth instead of these fluorescent lights that are far too bright. And that’s what he needs in his life, more sunlight in general. More radiant glows instead of the darkness he was forced into. The despair and misery he had to endure with no say in the matter. He had no choice, none of them did. So the sunlight— it would bring so much to his life too, happiness, peace, maybe even a sense of fucking security for once. Away from the choices— he didn’t want to make— towards decisions— he can make himself.

He’d love to see —if given the chance— he would still fuck up his life in some way. But at least then it’d be of his own accord— on _his_ terms, not some fucking raging lunatic. 

It’s not only the light that he needs from the sun too, but the sweeter and more breathable air. Fresh, as he’d take it in. Better than the musky, dirty air he's been breathing in lately.

But, if the marks are right— he’s missed all of the summer. If he’s kept count correctly, it should be October. Autumn. Cold. So there's a tinge of despair developing in him, along with the other chaotic emotions. Because all he really wants is just for some good sun, some good air and a good moment of actual peace away from his mind.

He wants to hear birds chirping again in the summer morning. To smell freshly cut grass from the elves placing charms on the lawn of his manor— as he sits on one of the overly large balconies, drinking his decently made coffee.

He misses coffee— so much, both the taste and smell. The feel of the warm, soothing liquids down his throat. The richness of it dancing between his taste buds. The slight energy he’d get from it. If he’s set free today, that’s what he’s going to do. Get a good fucking coffee, then another, and another, until he’s shaking from the caffeine. 

And buy a new book to read, instead of the same one he's read for the past five months over and over again, so much so he could most likely recite it by memory. He never wants to see the bloody thing ever again.

_Focus._

He grips tighter.

His eyes don’t meet any of the plum coloured people, he keeps them distracted. Instead, he looks around the small room and tries to do some discrete counting. 

Fifty. 

There’s around fifty of them. It's a full house. He thinks he should probably put on a good show for them then, wouldn’t want to disappoint the crowd. He bets they’re probably a hard crowd to please though, he better pull out all the stops. He doesn't have his wand, can't use an amplifier charm, will have to use the strength of his own voice. That's doable. He can do that.

He clears his throat, giving off a croaky, small cough and squeak, ready with the first joke in mind.

His lips part with a puff of air.

But he’s interrupted.

"Mr. Nott." A voice booms around the room. Loud and boisterous and deafening.

"Merlin's _fucking_ ball sack." He mutters under his breath. Covering his ears with his palms to break some of the resonating vibrations bouncing off the walls in his skull. "Fucking hell, that was fucking loud." He croaks, voice raspy. He’s not used to it, the noises, the talking. He’s out of practice. 

"What was that Mr. Nott?" The voice lowers and it’s female. Sounds— pretentious. Patronising and irritating— already. 

_Oh, this is going to be fun._

"Nothing," he takes a deep breath after recovering from the ear-splitting voice he’s just heard, inhales then exhales, deeply. "I said— you all look lovely,” he swallows and clears his throat again. “Divine— actually. That colour _really_ brings out your eyes, do you have one in my size?" He smiles to himself as he lowers his hands, scratches the tattoo on his neck that he's got somewhat used to over time and proceeds to cross his arms over his chest. His vision slowly adjusts more and he can see clearly now. But he's met with an unamused stare from the woman, the only person who's eyes he can meet.

"Right. You understand why you are here today, yes?" The woman asks, followed by silence from the crowd and a set of multi-coloured eyes staring at him. 

"Speed dating?" He smirks, raising his brows. "I must say, this is the most effective way for you all to get to know me better." He takes a step back and leans on the metal bars behind him, his cocky smile remains on his lips. "My name is Theo and I like long walks along the beach at sunset. How about you, darling?"

"That's quite enough, Mr. Nott, this is a serious situation we are dealing with. I think we would all appreciate some maturity on your part." Stern, stubborn and —more irritating than anything else— boring. He’d been confined in his own version of hell for so long, and this is what he’s greeted with? Pathetic. His eyes roll in response, followed by a light scoff. Unimpressed by their lack of laughs. Tough crowd, as predicted.

"Fine." He throws his hands up in surrender then takes his fingers through his chocolate brown hair. Ruffling it up within his hand then relaxing back on the bars, arms crossed once again. "Proceed."

"Testimonies have been made." She starts, organising a pile of rich parchment paper on top of the podium.

"Testimonies?" He asks, confused, with his brows knitting together.

"Yes, from several of your former classmates— on your behalf. All of which are highly respected and have proved to be quite informative." 

Highly respected? People have vouched for him? He didn't realise he had such an impact, nor deserve such help.

"Benefiting you, exceedingly so." She continues and quirks a brow. She looks disappointed. He bets she'd be happy to see him locked away again, forever, to rot in his cell.

_Good, be disappointed, watch me go free._

His brows raise as he bites on the inside of his cheek to suppress a growing smile.

"Can I ask who?" He wipes it away and results in keeping a straight face as he speaks clearly. Straightens his posture slightly too, to appear more interested, because he is. He could be getting free of that shit hole, fucking finally. 

Five. Fucking. Months.

"I'm afraid that is confidential. Anonymity was granted with their testimonies, for not only you but several of your fellow inmates too." It's discreet, but it's a sigh from her, he sees it and it makes him smile seeing how annoyed she is, that he could be a free man in a matter of minutes.

"Why the anonymity?" He asks, swallowing.

"They do not wish for you to know. They desire no praise or thanks, purely done from the goodness of their hearts— or so people have said." Oh, she's _definitely_ not happy. He’d be laughing right now in other circumstances, he wants to laugh.

"Right. So, what now?" He steps forwards. His fingers grip the bars again, feeling sweaty under his palms. He shifts his weight from one foot to another. Sightly. Hidden.

"The testimonies have stated that, on several accounts, you were seen fighting _against_ the Death Eaters on the second of May. Would that be correct?"

If her eyebrow was to lift higher, it'd get caught in the mess she calls her hair. 

He swallows and looks at the plum covered wizard and witches around him, finally meeting their eyes. He can't tell what they're thinking. There seems to be a mix of emotions on their faces. Some have a similar look on par with the disappointment the main woman shows, wishing these statements weren't true. But some look to be somewhat hopeful they are true. It’s only a guess though.

Seems to be more people on his side than he originally thought. About fucking time. Where were they five months ago?

"Yes, that's correct.” His hands shake so he clutches tighter. His cockiness gone, just painful trepidation in its place.

"And would it be true that your _own_ father is one of said Death Eaters?"

Fuck. His father. He'd forgotten about his father. He laughs— loudly. "Yeah, that bastard. I did."

"Mr. Nott, please refrain from using such language during this trial." Another stern look and tone from her and his eyes roll, wiping away the smirk on his face.

"Yes, I fought my own father," he states, calmly. 

_You’re going free, you have to be._

She nods her head and shuffles through her papers. Displeasure as evident as ever and he wants to do a little dance for joy. Because he’s finding so much pleasure in watching her frown. He might even try and remember this moment next time he wants to get himself off, the satisfaction he feels, the enjoyment. He’s definitely going to remember this next time he gets a hard-on. 

_Frown you fucking bitch, watch me go free._

Murmurs come from the people around him. The fruit coloured robes look just as revolting as earlier, reminding him of his hatred of plums. He goes back to avoiding them and their eyes and looks down at his hands instead. White knuckles. 

Has a consistent tense jaw as he keeps sucking in the inside of his cheeks between his teeth to bite them.

Sweat dripping down his temple.

_Focus._

He’s wanting to tell them to hurry the fuck up and let him outside. Let him catch the rays of gold on his skin, let him watch them sink into him. Glow around him and blind him in the best way possible. He'd happily go blind if sunlight was to blame. 

The sickness is slowly disappearing. He's growing confident again, remembering himself. It's an ever alternating mix of emotions and he fucking hates, it but it’s worth it. It's all worth it, he keeps reminding himself that. Thinks of the lick of warmth that could touch him. Hours— minutes— seconds to go. 

“Well, Mr. Nott, it seems like everything is in order. The testimonies provided have helped to prove your innocence.” She places the papers back on the podium and there's another collective mumble from the wizards and witches around him. “We just have a few more mandatory things we need to discuss with you. Is that understood?”

“Fire away, love. I've got all day.” He wishes he didn’t, that he could just tell them all to go fuck themselves and happily skip straight out of this fucking room. But he has no choice, once again, so he prepares to answer their questions. 

“Firstly, this is a similar situation for a few of your fellow members of Slytherin house who have also been taken in.” He knows, he watched them all get taken in. One by one. Sitting and waiting, ready for when it was his turn. “Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Zabini and Ms. Parkinson are the only ones who remain in the same position, whose trials are also being held today.”

“Fantastic, are we all going to have a party together?” He smirks. 

“Mr. Nott.” Stern, stubborn, boring. “They will also—,” he watches her take in a deep inhale— more dismay. Another smile from him. “Also be told about the statements made on their behalf, proving innocence.”

He supposes in this, with what happened— they are innocent. It was his father’s fault, he’s the one who chose this path, he’s the one who made him do the things he did. So they’re innocent, none of them had a choice. He chuckles to himself though. They’re not innocent in other areas. And fuck— he misses them. The stuff they did together, the chaos. What he’d do— what he’d give just to trip up another Gryffindor in the halls. 

“They will also be given a similar option to you, the one I am about to offer.” 

“Offer?”

“As part of the terms of your release, you will have the option to be either put on house arrest with limited connections to the outside world. Or, you can work here, on a probationary period working with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in the Investigation Department to be more precise.”

Has his heart stopped again? Or is it beating so fast he can’t even feel it? He can’t decide what’s better. Both his heart problem and the offer.

“They have suggested this position for you to assist in tracking down any remaining dark wizards and witches who have escaped. A way of, shall we say, repaying your debt to society.” Her lips pull up over her teeth.

_Smug looking bitch._

“Innocence was proven and your change of sides throughout the war has been noted. However, earlier actions cannot be forgotten. The meetings you attended, for example. Your family's history in alliance and so on. So forgive us for being wary of your loyalties, Mr. Nott.” Her lips stretch more. “The period will be a year-long, under strict rules and regulations. However, there will be an opportunity for a job at the end of it— should you prove to be essential— and you come to find yourself wishing to continue in your work.”

“Right. A job in the ministry you say? What's the lunch menu like at the nearest cafe?”

“Mr. Nott.”

He swallows. Rolls his eyes.

“Both these options are necessary for your approval back into society, in such a way to show your true intentions. So I would pick wisely. House arrest or probationary period, Mr Nott?”

“Do I have to pick right now? This is a tough decision, darling. Give me a minute.” He rubs the sides of his temples, wiping away the small amounts of sweat that developed moments ago. And he thinks like it's an actual decision. A year working in the ministry doing something that sounds unethically boring or sitting on his arse in his manor, alone, day in, day out? He wouldn’t be caught dead living in his manor by himself, with no contact with anyone else, absolutely fucking not.

How is that even an option? 

So the answer is clear.

“We need you to decide right away Mr Nott,” she booms— again.

“Alright, alright, fine.” His eyes widen as they roll. “Probationary period, pretty please with a cherry on top.” He says in a cheerful but fake tune. He hopes the others pick the same— if they are presented with it. They'd make it more fun, it could be a fun little reunion. Coming together finally, and he wonders if they'd be able to compare who has lost the most weight or put on more muscle while being locked up. 

The woman waves her wand and a piece of parchment paper flies out of the room.

“Now that is confirmed, you will begin on Monday the twenty-seventh of October, at nine a.m. sharp. I would recommend you arrive early that day and use the remaining days of this week to set your affairs in order before you start. Tomorrow you will be released.”

“I have to wait till tomorrow?” he groans.

“Yes,” she doesn't even look at him. A stone expression as she looks down at her podium. He was so hoping to be released today. “Next on the agenda will be your father. Now you are aware he will be spending the next twenty years in Azkaban for his crimes in being a Death Eater, yes?”

“Yeah.” He laughs, boisterously without sympathy or even a bit of care.

“You will not be granted visitation during your probationary period to allow the separation from your past. However, once it is complete, you will be allowed limited visits a year, if you wish to see him.”

“Perfectly fine with me, love. I don’t want to see that bastard.”

There's a low mumble from the crowd. 

“And the Nott fortune will all be yours in a year, should you complete your term in the D.M.L.E.,” she sighs. “Until then, you will receive a small payment for your work in the ministry for you to spend how you please. The Nott manor will be available for you to reside in as well.”

“Amazing, you've got everything planned haven't you? You clever minx.” He winks at her and she’s almost full of disgust. “So do you want me to buy you a drink when I get my money? You look like you need one.” He’s relishing in this, enjoying it to its full extent. “Out of all the speed dating candidates, you’re the one I want to see again.”

“Mr. Nott.”

“Sorry to the rest of you,” he turns his eyes to the plums. “She's rather enticing wouldn't you say? Can’t blame a man.”

“Mr. Nott. Stop with your incessant ramblings.”

“I apologise, we’ll talk more at dinner,” his tongue runs on his teeth as his lips curl. She swiftly moves on, but he can see a tinge of pink in her cheeks.

“Mr. Nott, there has been debate as to whether to separate you from your fellow classmates by giving them work in other departments. However, once again, someone has vouched for you, believing that you working _together_ may be more productive. Would you also believe that to be the case should the others pick the probationary period like yourself?”

“We can do anything when put together— apart from taking over the world, obviously.” He laughs at his comment but gains a scowl. “Don’t fret, I’m only joking. I think it would be _very_ beneficial to have us work together, you’d be surprised.”

“Time will tell.” she compiles her papers and neatens them out, tapping the bottom of the pages on the wooden surface in front of her. 

He realises he's hardly moved, and suddenly he's aware of an aching pain around his hands with them tightly wound around the bars. He releases and gives them a shake, stretching his back in the process.

“This concludes your trial for today, Mr. Nott.”

“So soon? Why do you want to get rid of me?” Sometimes he really does wish he’d stay quiet, but he’s finding so much joy in being a harmless nuisance to this woman.

“Very amusing.” She doesn't smile, doesn't laugh. It's a sullen tone just as dull and boring as she is.

He figures she’s probably never seen this sun in her life either. He can see the pale skin on her face as it pulls tighter and it’s as if there's some light missing in her life too. And he feels— nothing. There's no sympathy for her— not when he can so clearly see her desire for him to rot away in his cold, dark cell. She probably —no, _definitely_ — wants him to go mad, insane, maybe that's where she finds happiness and he's taking it away from her.

He loves it, he's relishing in it. Absorbing the hate and using it to power himself— to motivate himself in proving just how he is the opposite to everything they think he is. He is his father’s son after all.

"Well, this was lovely, darling. Let's do it again sometime, yeah?" he runs his tongue over his teeth as his lips curl, his face brightening. 

"For your sake Mr. Nott, let's hope we don't have to. I can't promise the outcome will be as desirable should you find yourself here again."

"Bit pessimistic," he quips with his ever-growing grin. “Don’t you think?”

“Shall we say more— realistic.” she takes a deep breath, her lungs inflating under her robes. “Is there anything else you would like to say before you are transported back for the night?”

“Actually, there is—”

He stands straight and neatens out his Azkaban shirt, letting it look more presentable on his shoulders. His confidence is reaching an all-time high for the first time this whole day and his arms cross over his chest; his heart steadies, no longer full of dread. He can feel a sparkle coming from his eye.

He's going free. He’s finally going fucking free and no one can stop him.

“I was just wondering if anyone has any of them Muggle sunglasses?”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the first chapter is out! Hope this was good!
> 
> The playlist is amongst all my others;  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/6vhpxajc8qcq2bi6hx8ca3hap?si=c2de69bc4fde4803
> 
> Pinterest - @ rvnclwhre
> 
> Twitter - @ rvnclwhre


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